The Next Untouchable
by Sophi Lovett
Summary: With Logan's healing ability evolved enough to negate Rogue's leech ability, she's forced to convince herself that her relationship with Remy is the right choice. However, there's another spider in the web... Rogue x Remy, Rogue x Logan, Remy x Emma Frost
1. Halloween Town

**Author's note:** Blehg. I started this story a while ago, I thought I'd get an account and post it up here, you know, see if I'd get any more inspiration to finish the story. I probably will eventually. So, if you do start reading, I'll end up finishing it. xD

Generally, no character in this fan fic is mine. Though trust me, I wish Rogue was. She's just the type of person you want to pat on the head, take home, put them in your closet and feed them crackers. xD Aaaaannnnyways. I'll get on with the story now.

* * *

_Boys and girls of every age, _

_Wouldn't you like to see something strange?_

"Gawddernit, Remy, Ah swear t'gawd yer pushin' yer luck!"

Silence was broken by the shrill cry of a heavy southern accent, anger lacing every word as the woman's lips curled into an unimpressed scowl to match the tone of her words. Her emerald eyes flickered over the culprit at hand. A tall, undeniably handsome, Cajun stood grinning, striking a pose that just reeked of self-proclaimed innocence. His hand raking through the chestnut locks falling from the back of his head, as he looked sheepishly at the brunette woman in front of him; her mood lightened none by his expression.

"I swea' it wasn' my faul', chère."

The woman scoffed in disbelieve, "Sure it ain't honey, an' yer hand just so happened t'slip t'mah be-hind!" It wasn't so much the man himself that sparked the vehemence in the woman's voice, more so his actions.

"Gambit don' go where he's no' invited."

The words were followed by a small smirk of accomplishment, daring the woman to try and deny him the pleasure he received from both the southerner's bantering. There was no other woman that Remy would ever want to argue lovingly with. In response to the man's words there was a wordless, riled, sigh as the woman swiveled on her heel, striding away from the Cajun as she did. The amused brunette let out a small chuckle, it seemed that he had pushed the woman a bit too far this time, his well-mannered flirting earning him a moment in the dog house. _Ha_, not if Gambit could help it. Picking up his own pace once more, the man soon caught up to his Cherie.

"Cmon, Roguey, don' beh like dis. Y'know Remy loves y'."

"Ah wish he didn't."

Laughing at the curt reply, Gambit once more scratched at the back of his head in wonderment. "Why y' gotta beh so col', chère?" Trying to reach his arm around the woman's waist, his movement was smacked away by a gloved hand.

"You've gotta death wish, Swamp Rat?"

The words were followed by a vicious snarl, not because the woman honestly disliked the other's touch. But rather, she was concerned for his safety. For, if he were to make contact with her skin, he would end up in comatose. She'd done it before. Even with that threat it didn't stop Remy from loving her. In turn, Rogue, as much as she hated to admit it, loved him dearly. However, as she had kindly noted before hand, she wished he didn't. The southern brunette always saw her, and her curse, just a death waiting to happen to yet another man the woman loved.

---

Emma Frost lived for the click of the cameras. Her whole body yearned for the attention that the light of the flash inspired. Giving a good as gold smile to the photographers, the model flipped her hair, having a hundred more clicks and light spells catching every single movement the woman had to offer. The lenses were addicted to every flattering curve of her body, every bat of her icicle blue eyes and every turn of her white Go-Go boots. Giving a small flick to her luscious golden hair once more, the model was greeted by a flood of lights from the camera's flash. Had she not been on hours, she would have sighed contently; there was nothing more she adored than the attention she was showered with when at work. Well, except maybe for the thrill of the dating hunt, but that was strictly personal life.

Her crystalline eyes left the focus of the cameras for a split moment as they slid over to the glass of the clock, which dictated her working hours. As per usual, it was a morning shoot. It seemed everyone from Hollywood and beyond loved to dictate their schedules around work and a light brunch which could all happen within forty-five minutes of each other.

It wasn't like Emma was complaining.

It certainly freed her up for her night-job, per se.

In the daylight, Emma Frost was one of the most notoriously beautiful and well-known models on the western side of the world. Under the cover of said job, Emma lived and worked at a facility known as Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.

"Gifted" meaning people like herself:

People who were different.

People who could heal themselves almost instantly, for example.

---

There was a brutish snarl that cut the cold, crisp, Canadian air. A man, who looked no older than thirty-five directed himself around the heavy Rocky Mountain brush, looking for some sort of tell-tale clue. Wolverine could practically feel his hunt looming in front of him, dragging him forward in the pursuit of his past. The man's sense of logic kept him still, alert of his surroundings. The insatiable longing to reclaim his memories kept his nerves on edge, begging the man to proceed, to keep hounding forward.

There was a brisk _crack_.

Snapping his body around there was a distinct _shink_ as the man's trio of claws unearthed themselves from each dip between the knuckles. The animalistic addition was metallic. The gleaming metal was pure, rare, and completely indestructible. It was known as adamantium.

It was this addition that kept the man always searching. Always hunting . . . always haunted.

They were some of the only clues he had to his past, and they were as permanent at the man himself, and would always remain as a constant ghost to keep him tormented. Letting out another of his lone wolf, guttural sighs, there was the nagging realization that the rustle had been nothing more than resident wildlife, probably nothing more than a bird or rabbit. Looking skyward the man released the intake of breath he had been holding, evening any slight imbalances in his breathing patterns.

It was now late in July, Logan had been hunting for his past for a good three months in this interval; perhaps it was time to head home and take charge of his present. He had been separated from in the institute for much too long, Wolverine figured, it was time for this lone wolf to rejoin his pack.

---

These people once thought they were all one of a kind, and now, under the guidance of one, Charles Xavier, they are united as a race, a team and much like a family. These people, they are mutants, Homo superiors. All have chosen to use their progress in human evolution for the greater good of all mankind, humans and mutants alike. Yet, there are still those who wish to use their gifts for their own personal gain in love, war, and the twisting of their own futures . . .

---

There was a loud gun and kill of a motor in the underground parking to announce the return of the one, the only, Wolverine, designated lone wolf of the infamous "X-men". His eyes slid around the concrete room, falling on the exit stairs that led up to the school's corridors. Sniffing, the man, although home, refused to let his guard slip even an inch. Logan refused to relax until he was comfortably seated, beer in hand, hopefully a silence looming over the building, if he'd be so lucky.

Unfortunately, Lady Luck had never seen fit to grace the man with her 'good side.' As soon as he hiked the stairs up to the hardwood platform he could already hear the bickering of two of his teammates. And judging by the accents, there was no doubt it was Rogue and Gumbo. Rearranging the bag the Canadian had situated on his shoulder, he ambled in on the argument as it seemed to be drawing to a close. Logan let a small smile grace his rugged features as his eyes confirmed what he already had known. The first sight to grace his presence was that of Rogue's chocolate locks, accented by one aged strip, which she kept tamed behind her ear. Which, the man now noticed to be pierced, apparently that was one thing to have changed while he was away on 'business'.

"Hey, kid."

Rogue whipped around as a new voice entered the conversation. Her anger at the Cajun had clouded whatever recognition she held for the voice. Emerald eyes falling on the new comer, the Southern Belle's entire face lit up into a bright grin.

"Logan!"

Was the shrill reply, the woman leaving the Louisiana-born man for a moment to hug the man who had entered, cautious as always to make sure her exposed flesh remained away from his. The action gained a small frown from Remy, but in all fairness, at least the Canadian had taken to covering up his skin. Gambit's own skin-tight, ebony T-shirt, left his arms unskillfully exposed. However, to hide whatever green, horned monster that was growing beneath his skin, Remy still managed a nod in recognition towards his fellow teammate, tastefully following it wish a small, two fingered salute to the forehead.

Logan caught the nod and reciprocated it with his own. "Gumbo." The name was slid into conversation with good humor on the Canadian's part, he had managed to eye a small expression of jealousy on the others brunette's face. It didn't take a mind reader to figure out that it was just burning up the Bayou boy to see the woman of his desire to be hugging another man when she was so cautious around Gambit, allowing nothing that could possibly put him in the way of danger. If Logan hadn't years of maturity, he would have felt the need to stick his tongue out over the Southern Belle's shoulders.

"I's been a while."

Almost shocked to hear the Cajun speak, Logan figured it was a warning to untangle himself from the other's woman. Allowing his arm to slip from the perch around her waist, Wolverine raised both hands in mock-surrender pose. Rogue, looking at the position gave a small chuckle and backed away standing between the two men.

"Apparently not long enough. You still mad, Gumbo?"

"Gambit'd beh a lo' less ahngry if y' stop callin' 'im 'Gumbo'."

There was a curt laugh at the other's expense, "It was just a little goodbye peck," The other tried to explain; perhaps he was the only one to get away with kissing Rogue and not being put into a near coma. In fact, throughout the course of knowing the supposedly 'untouchable' woman, Wolverine had gotten four times lucky [surprisingly enough. Albeit, majority of the time had been a life threatening situation where it was kiss the woman, or let her die. However, the fourth was a peck on her cheek before Logan had departed back home. Perhaps it was his own mutant gene counteracting Rogue's, but his healing ability seemed to have allowed the Canadian to make contact with her bear skin for the moment in which Logan allowed his lips to grace her cheek.

The explanation was greeted with the expected scowl, which Logan waved off with his now free hand; he wasn't about to fight in front of a Southern woman, it just wasn't proper. God forbid, Logan ever be proper.

"Don't ya two be fightin', ya hear?"

Rogue warned, despite the fact that Wolverine had seemed to wave off whatever conflict may have been brewing between the two, too-arrogant-for-their-own-good men.

"Wouldn' dare figh' in fron' a lady,"

Gambit assured Rogue, with a charmer's smile fully in place. If there was thing he knew she hated was full-blown, over-escalated brawls between friends. _If_ you could call Remy and Logan friends; they were more 'friendly rivals' than the earlier assumption. Watching the Canadian intently, his crimson eyes never left the back of the other male as he sauntered his way over to the fridge, opening it expectantly.

The Wolverine's fingers raked through the fridge, searching for one of his many vices. There was the scrape of glass against plastic as the bottle was pulled from the very bottom of the refrigerator and a soft pop as the lid was shed from the lips of the bottle. Once more the Canadian turned to face the scene he had strayed from a good three seconds. His fingers drummed across the cold of the bottle as he looked to both parties in the couple. Logan was almost tempted to ask what had gone on since his departure; he didn't expect much news.

To his knowledge Storm, Phoenix, and Cyclops had all gallivanted off on one of "Chuck's" special ops missions; some of the younger X-men like Iceman and Jubilee were preoccupied with soaking in as much summer as they could; Dazzler had dragged Angel on one of her trips to Manhattan to pull some shows, and well, the Squirt and Elf? They were around somewhere.

That left the three of them, a couple of stragglers and whoever was running the joint in Xavier's absence.

Even though Logan's knowledge flourished with the absence of the institutes' inhabitants he still asked the aged question, letting it drop casually into conversation before taking a swig of his beer. "What's happened since I've been gone?"

Rogue looked to Gambit, who reciprocated her look. It seemed as if between the two of them they were trying to come up with the best way to drop the news on the recent absentee. Since his departure an old

'friend' of the X-men's had come and reconciled, joining their growing team. However, both Southerner's knew the information would not sit well with Wolverine; he wasn't one to give up bad blood.

"Uhm, well," Rogue stammered slightly, still trying to fortify her words into sentences. Her emerald orbs slipped to Gambit once more as if requesting he take over her job as the bearer of bad news.

He did.

"Emma Fros' she came 'n' joined de team."

Logan pushed himself up from his comfortable slouch against the fridge. "What?" There was a small growl slipping into his words, perhaps one of the more animalistic qualities that accompanied the claws.

Remy knew that look that Wolverine was giving him, it was slightly more vicious than the look the Cajun would receive when his flirting with Rogue had gone too far. The glare was swimming with protectiveness for the institution as well as the look of being betrayed. However, had he been there two months before Logan would have been able to project his opinion when the team opted to give Emma Frost a limited membership into the X-men. The limited membership had throughout the months evaporated into thin air, the restrictions went with it. The psychic was an X-man and there was nothing that anyone other than Xavier could do about it.

Besides, admitting to himself and only himself, Gambit sort of enjoyed having the White Queen around. She had attempted to help Rogue and himself with their relationship, trying to strengthen it on a psionic level. Not to mention she was yet another addition to the ever beautiful X-femmes, and Gambit could never help but appreciate a pretty face. . .


	2. Hustle Rose

_  
Behold the fishnet slut tonight: hustle rose goes to limb to limb._

_Finger tip to painted lip, she sways her way up to him._

_  
_Emma Frost had an afternoon to spend how she would, having declined brunch saying she needed to 'watch her girlish figure', she managed to slip away from business long enough to have some time away from the institute, away from modeling, away from anything that would keep her from her own thoughts. It was almost funny that a psychic was having problems wrapping her mind around her own thoughts, even without the intrusions of others, it was just the hectic lifestyle of running a school, she supposed.

Though, seeing as she was a liar to everyone save herself, she knew it wasn't the school.

It was something bubbling within her deviant nature.

Emma Frost was always known for her actions. Even being a psychic sitting back, mulling things over and letting thoughts slide had never been her style. Of course, the contemplation she placed into those numerous plots was extensive; however, she wasn't reflective with remorse when her plotting fell around her feet in decay. Nor was she one to mope that things had become unbearably against her will. Oh no, despite her model-esque lifestyle, she'd been to islands that exiled her variety; she'd smelt the smoldering, blackened flesh of their babies burning, the sobs of the mothers' had cursed her ears. If something didn't work Emma's way, she knew things could be worse.

Though, she'd have you believing you were a mongrel pup before you thought she was optimistic.

Point being, as soon as Emma had been welcomed into Xavier's school with less than open arms, her mind had already started whirring and calculating, placing people into equations that would both benefit the White Queen and cause the most damage among the team. It wasn't that Emma was still working for the Hellfire club, nor was she still the leader of the Hellions anymore, she was merely the White Queen; her delight in rested in the plight of women and horrid relationship ends that she could cause.

It wasn't hard to pick apart relationships she could infiltrate then slowly wrench the cracks her own presence had splintered wide open. Originally, Emma had started with her long standing rival and her husband. Jean Grey and Scott Summers.

Frost had quite the knack for starting with the largest mountains first.

Though, as of recently it seemed her dear employer, whether knowledgeable or not, had taken her game to far off reaches that eluded the contact of even the White Queen. Unless of course she used Cerebra, but was she desperate enough to destroy that single relationship when she could easily find new 'prey' within the institute that has a much more _physical_ appeal?

Of course she wasn't.

A month had passed since the departure of the happy couple along with their team. It seemed to have depleted the institute of most its inhabitants. The building was strangely empty, with perhaps five permanent residents that the blonde would ever actually give a second thought to. Every once in a while a venturing X-man would come and go, but never were they either coupled, or romantically involved even if there was more than a solitary visitor.

Seeing as Storm had been stripped of her inhabitance of the X-mansion for a series of months due to her 'mission' with Xavier's precious core students, going after her Hank would have been simple. Admittedly fruitless though; Hank was worse than a lapdog when it came to loyalty to the weather witch.

Betsy, better known as Codename: Psylocke was never seen with any companion.

Ever.

The possibilities were narrowing rapidly. Iceman and his wavering dedication to girls like Shadowcat would have been far too easy to shatter, not to mention he was a bit young for her tastes. It wasn't to say Emma Frost couldn't do it. She had yet to find a man she couldn't attract, but it was Hellfire class that kept her standards somewhat existent.

Colossus was similar to Betsy: his relationships were far and few between. The last Emma heard the Ruskie had been with Kitty, but that was far before her time in the X-men, seemed to her that the flamboyant brunette had moved to 'cooler' companionship. This left Emma to opt for a straight chance for a relationship; to feel the thrill of the dating hunt.

But it was playing the other woman was her first love.

It was more exhilarating to be the bad girl all the guys wanted.

Or, used to want to kill, in her case.   
[Emma was positive there were a few that still wanted that very much, though.

The answer had come to the model like a slap in the face one evening. A verbal banter evolved into a vocal brawl of words, accents heavy and opposing. It was two members who Emma had clearly overlooked for the challenge of compromising Scott's loyalty.

Rogue and Gambit: the great untouchable and the unwavering lady killer.

It was a wonder they were still together, really.

That night, long after the argument and its participants had retired for the evening, Emma sat alone within her own room. A very secure smirk handled by her features professionally. She had her targets. All she needed now was a way into their relationship. After all, Rogue had done well keeping the relationship with Remy to herself, it was to the point the rest of the team assumed that Gambit was still barking up the wrong tree with all his flirting. It wasn't until 1 o'clock that night that she was finally able to invent a way into not only their relationship, but their minds too.

The next morning she had approached Rogue, setting her plan into motion without so much as a suspicion from the southern brunette. As the White Queen recalled, she had advanced on the woman in green pajamas, still wearing her own daring, ivory silk, night gown. Her tone had been idle of any sinister intentions; it remained soft as summer rain, falling somewhere between sympathetic and sincere, proving the model would have made a fine actress as well.

"Is everything alright, Rogue? I heard you and Gambit arguing last night." Emma had asked with perfectly executed faux-concern. She was sure it was hardly the 'good morning' that the brunette wanted to hear, and the blond was proven correct as Rogue scowled and tucked an aged lock behind her ear. If it were a scowl at Emma or the memory of the night before, the White Queen would have to probe her mind to find out. For, as soon as the streak of ivory-age fell within its cage her expression turned to one of embarrassment.

"So, ya heard that, huh?"

"Kind of hard to miss," Emma confided with a small laugh, which in turn, coaxed one from Rogue's own un-painted, morning, lips. "Anything you want to talk about?" The question was calm and none pressing for Rogue, if the woman didn't want to open up, Emma was positive she could get to Gambit. Rogue had shrugged of her question lightly, remaining silent as she waged a mental war with herself, the model assumed. Finally, one side won out over the other and it seemed in favor to Emma Frost, seeing as she was one of the only women Rogue's age with emotions to show—no, Betsy did not count; she hadn't ever since her personality had taken a 'Wolverine' spin. Maybe being an assassin just did that to people, not like Emma would know.

"Just Gambit being his us'al self, ya know?" The question was asked in earnest, much to the blonde's surprise. She truthfully hadn't expected Rogue to confide. Though, she supposed that the Southern Belle hadn't been with the X-men when they had seen the worst of Emma Frost. What Rogue had fought against, although still terrible, was considerably tame and well-mannered compared her and Sebastian Shaw's combined scheme's pitted against the X-men in a time of brittleness due to the rise [and fall of the Dark Phoenix. In short, it was only natural that someone with the shallowest wounds would heal first.

"I guess it's hard, I mean, I can see why he'd want to."

Emma distinctly remembered the look Rogue had shot in her direction; it was priceless, to say the least. It seemed the woman didn't know what to make of the comment. At first she had taken it to be a stab at Gambit's fidelity and libido. The second thought seemed to be one of much more shock; she eyed the blonde model carefully with an emerald eye. It was obvious to Emma she was trying to place the White Queen according to what 'team' she 'cheered for'. Rolling her icicle orbs she snorted disbelievingly, "It was a compliment, Rouge."

"Oh."

And just to clear the record, Emma added in slyly, keeping the explanation shy of _I'm not a dyke_: "I'm surprised you haven't crumbled for him yet. Lord knows, he's quite a catch." Her eyes gleamed mischievously with the delight of gossip and a catch all in the same conversation. Perhaps Rogue had sensed what sort of woman Emma was; she'd plunged within the kind of conversation run that would fall within the model's element. In some uncharacteristic purr that nearly betrayed her heavy accent, Rogue commented just as smugly:

"Oh, you've got _no idea, _Sugah."

There was a grin on Rogue's face, which Emma remembered reminding her of a cat that had gotten into the crème. In reality, if this was just what the thought of that man did, Emma almost wished Rogue to be able to touch him, just to see her melt with contact and become addicted with lust. With the southerner living the life of depravity she had, Emma could almost taste she was emotionally near where the blonde needed her to be. She mocked the smile, turning hers into slightly more angelic version.

"So what was his argument this time?"

"That he wasn't like other men, that he could take pain," There was a snort in between her sentences that had shown she was clearly none too impressed with the man's arrogance. "Ah've seen what mah power does t'people like him, an' that ain't pain. That is dern near shatterin'." The blonde remained silent as she listen to Rogue spill out before her, her words wouldn't stop now that they'd started. "An' sure, he's gotten lucky before 'n' all, but, Ah don't wanna hurt him, Emma. Evah since Logan did that stupid stunt o' his, Remy's been more protective than Gawd only knows what. Pressin' thin's he knows he shouldn't beh."

Emma had raised a slender eyebrow with curiosity, figuring this was something that had happened before her time at the institute; the White Queen had yet to see the animalistic brute, and even to the present day that held up true. For that, Emma relished in her luck, but she knew it couldn't last forever. "What did he do?" She questioned casually, seeing as Rogue was on rant now, it wouldn't be as if she'd stop short of telling Emma.

"Ugh, the man pulled off someway t'kiss me, right in front o' Remy too. Ain't have no clue how he walked away fine, leavin' fer some trip up t'Canada." It was evident the displeasure on Rogue's face, but at the time there was something in those eyes that Emma had later deciphered to be longing. Not for the man, but the touch he miraculously seemed to grace upon her cursed skin. It was no surprise to Emma; it was probably what the southern woman longed for since the manifestation of her mutant X-gene.

Emma let a small laugh fall into the silence that had fortified, "Well, aren't you getting men left, right and center?" Her joke was met with a dark gaze that bordered on glaring. The White Queen may have earned a place in Rogue's confidence, but she hardly seemed to hold the right to joke about Rogue at her expense yet. Seeing as there was no longer words that could solace the southern brunette, embellishing the comfort for the X-femme to relieve more information to the blonde. However, it seemed the perfect time for Emma to drop her bombshell.

"Rogue, I may have a way to help you..."

---

After that morning, Rogue had easily played into everything Emma set up for her. One mention of telepathic assistance by strengthening their relationship through a psionic bond that would allow the two of them to produce a scene in their heads, but more importantly, allowed them to touch, and Rogue had been hooked. Gambit seemed to have warmed up to the idea considerably slower than Emma expected. It appeared that he was none too fond of letting an ex-enemy into his mind.

Nevertheless, he folded.

Emma knew he would, even without telepathy and mind reading.

She was offering him a chance to touch his untouchable lover, after all. Even if it was all in their mind's, their bodies' nerve system was responsive enough to the mental stimulation in the sessions that it gave the feel they were indeed making physical contact with one another. It was a short term solution that honestly held no solution once Emma resorted to relieving the couple of her 'therapy'. But nonetheless, it served her intended purpose.

Emma Frost had gained their trust.


	3. Are You Going To Be My Girl?

_I could see you home with me, _

_But you were with another man, yeah._

Remy had fallen into a mood ever since the Canadian returned to the X-mansion. He hung around Rogue, never more than a foot away. Throughout the day it had caused a series of problems, Rogue turning and running into his chest, forgetful of his closure. Rogue after a moment of resolution in her eyes, she would start up with more ire than the time before, scolding him several times over. Each reprimand was a slight variation of the last. The first had been precautionary, the second was a reminder of his lack of sleeves, the third was falling on 'annoying, paranoid moron' and it continued like that until Rogue had pieced together it was the presence of the Canadian. Her last admonishment was a silent glare that stated fiercely: 'we'll talk about this later.'

It was all Rogue could do to keep herself from blowing up in front of Logan.

Occasionally she'd let out a familiar riled sigh, which would be followed by a small chuckle of Wolverine's. Though, whenever Gambit attempted anything to lift his own moods, he would earn an audibly disapproving grunt from the elder X-man. The asshole.

Feeling all worn out from all the 'fun' he was having, Gambit excused himself from the company of Wolverine and Rogue, earning a concerned look from his beloved Southern Belle. He offered her a smile as some sort of promise he wouldn't go do anything stupid, for her sake, not his own.

It was mid-afternoon, bordering on early evening as the Cajun tossed his eyes to a clock. He could have guessed the time well enough without looking; his eyes had slid to whatever digital time teller was within the room the trio entered, counting the minutes until Wolverine would just excuse himself. Maybe he could go look to pick a fight with Emma Frost instead of treading all over the Louisiana Gentleman's last nerve. Stalking the hallways of the Institute there was the urge to just ditch whatever silent promise he'd made and just kick onto his motorcycle and take off towards the nearest bar. The debate was nearly settled when the front doors of the X-mansion opened elegantly, afternoon light showered through the doorway, when Gambit shifted his crimson watch towards the figure, the light emanated around her like a full-body halo. Within the warming glow of midday was a woman deserving of such an entrance. Her bodice was curvaceous deserving of male adoration, falling beneath the breast and hip, clung a skirt. It was short, mid-thigh at longest. Its intent was clear, to accentuate the woman's flawless lower half, her sun tanned thighs in particular. Her calves, though equally without flaw were covered with the ivory leather of her Go-go boots. As she joined the X-men she replaced the lace-up thigh-highs with the Go-Gos as a change in faith; she claimed the lace-up's looked 'sinister'. Remy had thought otherwise: they looked downright sexy. His look flitted upwards once more. Following the colour coordination of the skirt and boots, her form fitting tank top was also ivory in nature. It seemed the woman wasn't named the White Queen for nothing. Even her tanned face shone with a radiance of ivory accent. Blond crown framing the angelic face, shielding her from almost ant track record people could pin against her.

It was certain, out of all the foes the X-men had fought; she was the best.

Best dressed, best looking, and a near best at being a villain.

Though, with times changed, she could still very well be lead in the run for most attractive X-femme; he'd never admit it aloud to Rogue. She'd throttle him.

"G'af'ernoon, Emma."

She responded pleasantly, the familiar purr lacing her words. It was natural that such a suave body would have a seductive means of conversation. "Hello, Remy," The name hung between them, perhaps Remy was imagining it, but Emma's voice sounded awful similar to a lover's tone. Stepping into the stillness of the mansion the moment was broken, her halo had faded away, the angelic quality of the woman went with it. Still, the sultry purr in her voice remained as once more her words took flight, kissing at the Cajun's ears. "Thanks for the compliment. In the lead, you think?" Cheekily, she slid towards the man; as she neared he bristled, considering her a threat.

"Y' wen' in my 'ead?"

The question was brutally shattering to Emma's serene and possibly seductive nature. His voice was harsh, cutting and unimpressed with the woman, who snuck glances at his mind as she wished.

"I've already been in your head." She reminded him softly, in an attempt not to get him riled up that she would occasionally catch clippings of his mind here and there. All she had to do was open her mind to his, and his thoughts would be right there at the top just begging to be read. "I only ever see the compliments Remy; you seem to be giving me quite a lot lately."

"Yeh? Well, Remy'll try t'stop den."

The White Queen laughed; the notes of laughter fell over the man, as if he'd been intending to charm her. He hadn't, he guessed it was just natural at this point. Women and most people did tend to gush and melt into him when he started talking, his Louisiana drawl flattering the conversation with ease and flamboyance. Though, one jeering exception was said animal with Rogue in the living room. Gambit noticed the look as Emma searched for the familiar southerner that usually accompanied the Cajun. Ending her search with another abrupt incision into conversation—or lack of, he relayed the whereabouts of his lover.

"She's in de livin' room wit' Wolvie."

"Wolverine?" Emma's eyes were pressing on the matter; things could blow up in her face rather quickly and her expression showed it. Though, it didn't clue Gambit as to what means Emma had meant. Rather, she was trying to work a new man into the equation of Gambit and Rogue. Inwardly, there was a wry thought dashing about her mind. Slyly, it crept onto her face taking the form of a calculating but satisfied smirk. To those who saw the woman everyday were accustom to the look; merely thinking it was the only expression she wore. Gambit raised an eyebrow to the reaction, hoping the X-men hadn't accepted another Wolverine Fan into their ranks. He was already sick of the increasing numbers: Rogue, Storm, Jean, Jubilee, Psylocke and now Frost, too?

As the old saying goes:

Things were not looking good for our hero.

Emma, although skilled at prying through people's minds unknown, she didn't even have to use telepathy to figure it was best for the Cajun to just let him wind down away from Logan. Besides, it wouldn't hurt to let old friends reacquaint themselves would it? A wicked smile crossed her lips momentarily, for even complications such as the man who sat not even twenty feet away from her, could be overcome with minimal effort and a keen memory.

She was, in the end, Emma Frost.

---

Rogue would often throw her gaze to the door Gambit had left through, her mind only half concentrating on what little conversation her and Logan had going. It wasn't as if the two were shrouded in awkward silences: they understood each other probably better than anyone else at the institute. Rogue understood why Wolverine would leave for months on end, she grasped why he had dropped the hope of a relationship with Jean after she had married Scott—it wasn't the marriage. Even more astonishing still she was able to follow and let slide his protective nature that revolved around their home, further still, she was able to both comprehend and empathize with the feeling of distrust to anyone who threatened to 'use' him. She'd been through it too, exploited by both the monsters he'd endured—Weapon X and Magneto.

Likewise, Wolverine simply 'got' her demons; letting them be only to intervene when deemed absolutely necessary, he also understood her feeling of isolation. The only thing that he never seemed to grasp about Rogue was her irrational love of the Cajun.

"Why'd ya do it, Logan?"

The question had been itching inside the woman for quite some time; it happened to be the only thing she didn't quite understand. Did Wolverine just have a _thing_ for taken women? No, it wasn't that, and Rogue knew it; but it made for a good excuse nonetheless.

His eyebrow rose, as he reached for the stub of the cigar sitting, clamped between his teeth. The thing remained unlit, not because Rogue wasn't fond of smoking—though she wasn't. It was more a comfort thing, a need to have it: a force of habit. Twiddling the chocolate-y cigar through his forefinger and ring, he flipped the encased tobacco to his forefinger and thumb, rolling it absent mindedly.

"The kiss you mean?"

"Yeah."

Ill at ease to hear Logan mention it so nonchalantly, evidently his streak of carelessness extended to this point, too. Logan didn't seem to jump at changing the subject, but he wasn't the first to volunteer information until asked a second time. Though, the question was more like a warning, his name spoken a second time.

In answer the Canadian rose from his chair with a quiet grunt, strolling to Rogue who seemed to sink into the couch around her. It was almost like she expected him to burn her. Not sure if it needed saying, Logan made a habit of saying the obvious, "I'm not going to hurt you, kid."

"Ah know that, Logan." Unenthusiastically Rogue, who until that moment had been avoiding his deep, russet stare, let her gaze fall into his. Noiselessly a gasp fell from her unpainted lips. Her emeralds went large, reflecting the Canadian's face back at him. She hadn't known what sparked the noise, but there was something so like Gambit in Wolverine. Their persistency, perhaps, was the greatest similarity between the two, but, it was not persistency Rogue sought to see within Wolverine's earthen gaze, but the answer to her question. Unrewarding was her search. She knew as much about his reasoning as she did the feel of flesh against her skin.

Though, that could always change.

In a small swoop that Rogue had not caught until her lips were swept up with Logan's did she realize what was happening. Despite her loyalty to Gambit, her eyes fell shut with the sensation; the southerner never experienced a kiss where the memories, personality, and life-force hadn't flowed from one person into her. Unlike the liquid feeling of someone's life burning and scraping its way into her head like fire and broken glass, the kiss felt solid. As Rogue assumed kisses ought to feel like. The roughness of Logan's presence was commandeering, pushing her backwards into the couch she had desired shelter within a moment before hand.

There was a leathery slap as Logan's metal inlaid hand came down on the couch cushion, gaining leverage to lean into the kiss as he did so. Rogue would have liked to believe that it was chaste, and some part brawled for the right to claim it was, the other, much larger part of Rogue felt lower than a snake's belly. Mentally, she started repeating a mantra that kept her focused elsewhere than on the growing kiss.

_I am in love with Remy LeBeau; I am in love with Remy LeBeau. I am. . ._

_Letting another man kiss me._

Finally, Rogue pulled away from the kiss; her face scarlet and her heart flustered: beating thrice as quickly as it should have been. Her large, emerald, irises continued to reflect the man that hung in the vicinity of her face.

"H-how?"

Lumbering backwards, his weight once more on the centers of his feet, Wolverine looked down to the southerner, inept and incapable of deciphering her coded expression. There was a roll of his shoulders, a shrug that made his whole appearance seem older than it let on. "I don't know, kid. Chuck said something 'bout powers evolving. Like Jeanie's did with the Phoenix episodes, said my healing factor'd learn to work better over time." Looking over to the brunette with his own coffee-colored eyes, he attempted a small smile. "Guessing its counteracting what you're taking outta me, kid."

"But Ah wasn't takin' nothin'" Rogue protested, aggravation evident. There had been hope in her mind she'd woken up that morning and conquered it; Wolverine being the only one brave or hard-headed enough to prove the fact. However, she was rudely awakened by Logan's reasoning. A small pout threatened to wobble across her lips. Everyone's powers were evolving; Jean's psychic abilities kept expanding, mutating and manifesting in new abilities. Iceman had extended his so the ice he so readily was able to create became him even to the point where the ice could augment his body and now, Wolverine couldn't be subdued, even by a mutant who's sole ability was to pilfer life. Everyone under guidance of Charles Xavier had progressed, except one mutant who couldn't control her powers any better than the first day they emerged.

"Then we were at equilibrium, my healing factor must've negated your ability."

There was a heavy sigh, covering the matter-of-fact tone that Wolverine detested receiving, but had no problem preaching. Logan, with innate senses, but more so understanding of the Southern Belle shone with the fact she seemed no happier to have found someone to make contact with. Wolverine even went as far as to state aloud his thoughts directed on her reaction; Leaving the man without a response, Rogue's mind was elsewhere coping through a steady, repeating, mantra: _I am in love with Remy LeBeau._

_---_

Emma could see the uncomforted look as much as she could sense it radiating from the Cajun's stance. She elected a few conversation starters that were shot down miserably. Fighting off one of her more feminine pouts, she watched the Louisiana brunette intently. Her wager on the man's next move changed several times throughout the silent minutes. It was unlike the lady killer to have anything but a feisty word and charmer's grin stapled to his features. She was tempting another slink forward, hoping to pull the usual personality from the rubble of the somber one. Testing a foot forward, she placed her weight towards the man, her photogenic smile out on display. Decidedly, it didn't seem like Gambit moved for or against her approach, it was somewhat reassuring that he wasn't turning away from her. Slipping her faux concern once more into public, Emma spoke leisurely to Remy, her voice calm and still rumbling at the edges with that forever present purr.

"Something the matter, Gambit?"

His eyebrow rose and fell and finally his signature grin emerged upon his features. "Everyt'in's fine, chère. Jus' no' par'icularly fon' of Wolvie at de momen'." If the woman had even a hint he'd been lying, his eyes proved differently. Truth poured from the depths of the ebony-rimmed, crimson gaze, dripping with the effects of unfriendliness. The Cajun let an unimpressed shrug tumble through his shoulders, "Gambit ain't fon' o' 'im, anyway."

Not like that came as a shock.

Sighing, Remy muttered under his breath, "Gambit shoulda gone fer dat drink…" He could certainly use it, and not one of those silly bottled equities. No, Remy wanted some straight from the tap beer that could ebb away his annoyance until it was as harmful as a kitten. Though, being the gentleman that he was, he couldn't just relinquish his company from Frost; not from any woman, really. Letting his unusual eyes slip to Emma, lowering no farther than her collar bone, he smiled once more. "Care fer a drink wit' me, chère?"

It'd come as an astonishment, but Emma smiled nonetheless, nodding. As she did her blonde locks bounced about with her enthusiasm, reflecting and mimicking the dismembered full-body halo from earlier. "I'd love one," Emma crooned gently, tapping her already covered foot with the toe of her white leather Go-go. The escape from the mansion underwent little planning; the two were out of the grounds as soon as Gambit could gun to life his own motorcycle, the White Queen attached firmly behind him, her arms tugging herself to his muscled back.


	4. Echo

_I'm going to keep my head; I'm going to keep my cool._

_Oh, I'm so in love with you._

It was dark by the time Gambit sauntered unevenly into the room he shared with Rogue. He tripped over his own shoelace as he entered, erupting into a small fit of drunken giggles. He waited slowly for both his giggles to subside and his vision to clear a path in the darkness. Slowly, the edge of the two beds came clear; there was already a bump in Rogue's, evidence she'd retired for the night earlier than he'd even bothered coming home from the bar. Debating within his own intoxicated mind, the Cajun debated whether or not to slip into Rogue's bed instead of his own. Last time he had tried that—equally drunk as this time—he'd walked around with a black eye for a good week as a show for his efforts. Deciding against the drunken idea, he traced his way to his own bed, flopping down upon it. Sinking the springs in the mattress, he started to pull the first of his shoes off his feet. Feeling groggy, but unmatchable light of mood Remy just flopped his body across the single mattress, not bothering with his pants or shirt which positively reeked of alcohol. Nuzzling into his pillow the Cajun was attempting to piece what of the night he remembered together. The gaping black spots made it inexplicably difficult.

In the least he remembered kicking it back a few several pints with Emma, as she sipped her vodka drinks, both of them equally drunk by the end of it. His companion of the adventure was concealing the drunkenness better than he. Other than a long talk and few flirtatious moments at the bar Remy could remember nothing, except for nearly crashing his bike a right smart amount of times before parking it haphazardly in between the yellow dictatorship of the lines.

Rogue wasn't sure if the reek of the Cajun or his lopsided walking had been welcomed into her senses first. For some reason she suspected the former. Her figure shuffled under the blankets, drawing her knees further inwards towards her breasts. She had been like that since the explanation of how Logan could kiss her had drawn to a close. The Southern Belle hadn't waited to find out why he did—she just needed to be alone. Alone in the uncomforting darkness did she lay, waiting for Remy to join her, as the clock rolled passed 2am, she was starting to doubt he'd bother coming back. As the thoughts spilled from her mind, there had been an audible whimper and twinge of guilt.

It was Rogue's fault he'd left to begin with.

As the man had settled into his bed, it took all the courage the skunk-striped X-femme could muster to address her teammate and lover without her voice cracking. "Yer late, Remy."

"Apologies, I didn' know y'd beh up, chère." Gambit was expecting to receive that talk he had been silently threatened about earlier, still, the drunken haze was too much to register the frailty and apprehension in her voice. Rogue wasn't going to be lecturing him on team friendships with him and Logan; as far as she was concerned she wanted to keep the conversation as far away from Wolverine as possible.

"Ah didn't know ya'd be gone so long." Rogue pushed her self up into a sitting position, Remy mirroring her movements, both of them near level from their separate beds. "Where'd ya go?"

Gambit shrugged, giving an airy laugh, "Jus' to de nearest bar wit' Fros'."

"Oh."

There was a small silence that enveloped the both of them, perhaps Gambit failed to notice the discomfort weaving through the atmosphere, but it was plaguing Rogue, with nothing at her disposal to stop it from doing so. Before her disheartened eyes, Gambit rose unsteadily from his mattress, ambled to the woman, smile armed against her doubts. "Y' ain't worried 'bout Gambit are y'?"

Rogue smiled weakly, attempting to reflect her lover's smile like a mirror. She succeeded in reflected that of which a cracked mirror would: distortion and corruption of a single smile. Flinching violently, Rogue brushed her wondrous gaze upwards towards Gambit's outstretched hand. She would have taken if there was no threat of harm. But Remy's skin glowed in the darkness, as did her own porcelain flesh, their combined presences mocking the absence of protection. "Remy, don't start this up again." She sighed heavily; rejecting the man's outstretched hand.

"Non, y' can' keep pushin' me away, Rogue. Y' can', i's no' gonna wor' f'evah."

"Ah don't wanna push you away, Remy, it's just…"

The woman's voice trailed off, giving reigning power to Gambit's displeased frown, "I's jus' y' don' trust Gambit."

"No!" Rogue cried, her voice sounded feeble and defeated, as it always did when she knew Remy would win their argument without really winning. "A-ah don't trust mahself not t'hurt you. Gawd, Ah don' know what Ah'd do if Ah hurt you. It'd beh so unbearable!" The woman's pleas were just as brittle as her voice. Her lip trembled slightly, she was breaking down much more quickly this night…it was Logan, if Remy ever knew what had happened, that'd hurt him more than any kiss or rejection could. He'd be shattered; there was no way Rogue could do that to him. Not to Remy, he'd been the first of the X-men as to treat her as something half-decent; the others claimed to, but none of them, whether by intelligence or unwillingness, ever volunteered to touch her just for the sake of her isolation ending for a few disoriented moments. Even when he couldn't touch her, he remained just as loyal as Scott or Hank, occasionally looking, but never hounding after another girl.

Shame she couldn't say the same for herself.

"Je t'aime, Rogue."

The sincerity of the words draped over the twosome: Remy reached forwards once more, his hand stroking the woman's silky hair; the small waves lapping and curling about his fingers, fervent for the Cajun's contact as the whole of the woman. "I love you." He repeated softly in English.

"Ah love y-."

Her words were cut off by his lips on hers and almost as soon as his skin came in contact with hers she could feel the solidity of the kiss liquefy; the feel of broken glass and fire raced through the southern belle. Along with the familiar draining, images and flashed projected into her mind, the most recent of memories came first: flashes of Emma and Remy sitting at the bar filled to the brim with humans. The walls were wood, tainted with age and sun but spruced with the occasional themed picture and small statue off to the side. The bar table was an ebony granite and there sitting on identical stools sat both X-men, toasting to a wordless cry that sparked smiles upon their faces. Another image was of the both of them in the same bar, a darker corner, though. Occasionally Emma would reach over, her hand flitting safely across Gambit's skin, trailing down his arm. The bar-inhabiting twosome were laughing and _flirting_.

The finale was the undeniable rush of jealousy that was not her own: envy of Wolverine. Another picture faded to and from existence; the setting was familiar, the kitchen of the X-mansion, the only two people visible from Remy's perspective were Rogue and the Canadian. In Hollywood slow motion, Logan leant down, kissing her, lips grazing her cheeks, followed by another flash of jealousy.

Then, the images stopped.

Gambit's lips had pulled away from hers, leaving both southerners panting for air. Rogue trembled slightly, the remnant of envy and the giant flourish of guilt once more dictating the pulse of her heart. Her stolen crimson gaze locked onto Remy's, her eyes were searching for a clue to set her mouth into motion. The awkward silence that had befallen the two made Rogue extremely uneasy, she knew it was impossible for Remy to absorb some of her memories in return, but the suspicion alone was enough to make her ill.

The Cajun seemed to be the first of the two to regain the use of his tongue, "Y' didn' 'urt Gambit, chère." The drunken stupor still seemed in affect after the weightiness of their prior tête-à-tête. Despite herself, Rogue managed to crack a genuine smile.

"Non," she agreed, her voice infected with her lover's accent. Despite the surging pleasure within her chest she reminded cruelly for the moment's mood. "Don' y' beh tryin' again." Her words claimed one thing, her voice another. From any other woman it would have laid an enticing invitation to continue forward. If Gambit had been intent on stealing another kiss—which he was contemplating it—he would have been more than capable. Rogue's attention was reeling with the emotions that had ebbed away the edges of the guilt; it was pure pleasure and love. The feathery kiss had made her heart skip a beat; the rouge in her cheeks rose with hardly any effort or will. Even now, her heartbeat was only returning to its natural rhythm. Despite the earlier kiss hadn't included the agonizing slideshow, it hadn't been accompanied by such an emotion either.

It was clear in both her heart and mind who Rogue loved.

Remy LeBeau.

Once more in the darkness of the room did Remy push his lips against his lover's, this time the feathery touch of his maw pressed more zealously into the woman; craving and yearning fueling the motion. Rogue relished in the moment only to have it stripped away when there was a sudden jerk from the both of them: Gambit had had all he could handle. With a heavy thud the man's knees went out beneath him. Regardless, his face was littered with his trademark smile. "Y' didn' 'urt Gambit, chère. Y' didn', Remy promise." The promise was the last thing to leave the man's lips before the swell of unconsciousness fell upon him: darkness consuming his mind filling it slowly, bursting of adulterate dreams.

As if there was any other kind for the man.


	5. The Snake Is Eating Itself

_I knew she was the chosen one, the time stood frozen,  
Holding us, hunting us for a lonely moment. _

Wolverine woke early that morning, as he did most mornings. As soon as his eyes fluttered open, he knew there would be no retreating back into the warm abyss of nothingness until the night that followed. His morning routines took next to no time; he'd had years to practice and arrange the schedule to near perfection, after all. The shower took longest of all morning practices as Logan allowed the burning waterfall slide over his being. The steam rose in billows and curls, exiting from the top of the shower door. The droplets, envious of the steam, remained trapped and doomed to be carried down the drain, determined to survive they clung to Logan. As the water made its feeble attempts to hug the Canadian, they left trails of red, irritated flesh that almost immediately faded to a pale moonlit sort of look. The scorching of the shower would heal almost instantly, but the thunderous pain that transcended the look of the wound stung moments after its mark had disappeared.

It wasn't often Logan had showers of such heat, usually her preferred the cool mock of his Canadian homeland, the north of the country reflected in the chill that would cascade over his skin. It was only ever in an act of repentance would Logan allow the steaming droplets to scald his ever healing skin. To what he was repenting, people could only assume. There could lay the guilt of the people he had killed in his army days, the ones slaughtered by their own adamantium creation, the several people assassinated by his hand whilst he had worked for Magneto, or the near murder of his "friend", Scott Summers.

All of those answers would be dead wrong.

The current atonement he was reaching was a forgiveness from someone that was not a ghost of his past: Rogue.

Ever since she'd fled the couch last night he'd been doing everything to blow off steam, Danger Room session, prowling around the yard testing security defenses, then crawling back to bed at the wee hours of the moment to resume with the scalding shower the morning after. It wasn't even the rejection that had the man worked up, rejection was something he could handle with the limited grace of his being, It was the fact when he tried to make amends, the only inhabitant of Xavier's who Wolverine gave a damn if they ignored him, had done exactly that. He'd stood a good twenty minutes in front of her door; head hung low not wanting her silence.

As Logan once preached to Storm, the only thing worse than being in pain is being _ignored_

Giving a heavy sigh, the Canadian stepped from the shower, reaching blindly for the nearest towel with one hand as his other hand reached to turn off the cascade of torrid water. His hand retracted from the drying waterfall, the red of the small burns already receding into his skin. His chocolate eyes linger a moment on his forearm and hand watching the red fade back into a fleshy, light tan. Sighing as the last of the hue evaporated with the water, Logan turned away: He needed a beer.

It didn't take long for the Canadian to pull on a pair of well worn jeans, the age showed through the knees and the color. On top of that it was just a simple white t-shirt that was loose and easy to move in; over his feet he dressed in old cowboy boots that were just as faded as the jeans. His eyes looked forlornly towards the dresser that caged the cowboy hat which he'd picked up from one of the Albertan Stampedes, but left it where it laid, heading with no enthusiasm to the kitchen.

Reaching the door to the kitchen, Logan stopped to find a familiar southerner scooped up in an island chair, crouched over the table. The aged bangs fell in front of her gaze and circled around the base of he coffee cup. The steam from the cup no longer rose into the woman's face and she sat, curled on the small chair, staring at the lukewarm liquid. The atmosphere seemed brittle to Logan, the wrong thing could snap the entire moment into a thousand pieces. "Hey, kid."

"I'm no ki', Logan." Rogue replied sullenly, up until that moment she had been 'enjoying' her morning alone. She was up earlier than usual, racked with worry, hoping that Remy would awake that day. Ever since he blacked out the night before the Southern Belle had been weighing the options through her mind that she had put him in a coma just like Cody and the others.

"I know, but…"

"Bu', what?"

Rogue's borrowed gaze slipped venomously over to the Canadian, not out of abhorrence for the man himself, just she was not in the finest of moods this morning and was running on a mere two hours of sleep. As her words were tugged from her lips from the annoyance, the woman barely took notice that Remy's voice still layered hers. Her own accent all but obliterated until his accent and crimson gaze decided to relinquish their hold on her psyche.

Any emotion that had crawled to the man's service resorted to retreating back beneath a mask that Weapon X had skillfully created for their prized assassin. He gave a roll of his eyes and shoulders, trying to give the impression he didn't give a shit about her malice. Voice relatively cold and dismissing Logan spoke again, "See you've got a head full of _Cajun frog_. Was he stupid enough to try something?"

Rogue snorted and glared viciously, "No' like i's beyon' 'is righ'. I _am_ 'is girlfrien'."

Laughing, Logan nodded his head sardonically, "Right, right, must've slipped my mind."

"Y'r an ass, mon dieu."

Raising a near insulted eyebrow, Wolverine retaliated in a near playful manner, dropping his guard for a small moment. "Who're you calling 'old', kid?"

"Sta'emen' o' trut'."

Rogue stopped a moment to let a sly grin cross her face, she'd gotten him there. As her crimson eyes fluttered over the man's well defined jaw she let her smile fall from her face. Unfurling her feet from the curl of the chair, she stepped down, grabbing the mug as a safety line. Giving a few steps forward she noted she was a good inch or so taller than him, usually you could never tell when the Canadian was building himself up with confidence and the fear-factor. The borrowed crimson slid over his face and into his eyes as her stride fell short of the man by a good foot. "I don' get y', mon ami. Y' come down 'ere lookin' fer a figh', den let me git away wit' de insul's." Her thoughts came out in a long sentence, cutting off short of what she was trying to say at the end. Though shrugging at both her inability to word her statement and the Cajun accent that littered the one-sided conversation she continued with a sentence of finality. "T'ought I knew y', Logan, I really did."

Wolverine had taken the growing closure with more discomfort than hopefulness. The prying look Rogue was handing him was one he'd never seen her wear before. Listening solemnly to the woman's statement, he lowered his eyes for a moment before returning her to the Cajun's stolen gaze. It was almost like having to explain himself to the bastard, but, underneath that gaze, it couldn't have been anyone other than Rogue. "You do know me, kid. Better than anyone here does, better than Chuck and better than Jeanie or Storm. Better than any of them ever will, too. I'm not going to loose that over some stupid mistake, Rogue."

Rogue blinked an odd time or two; it was odd to hear a forgiveness falling from Logan without it having to be forcibly tugged from his clenched teeth. The air of the moment was strange, littered with a 'best friend' tête-à-tête. Absently, Rogue smiled lightly, "'pology accepted, mon ami." Though as the words fell from her mouth, the brunette couldn't help but feel the need for closure rupture around her. "Why'd y' do i' t'ough?" Her gaze was pressing, but her distance far. This would not be a repeat of yesterday.

Her question was answered with an indecisive shrug, "I don't know, kid. You're the one that knows me better than anyone." There was a moment of silence that trailed between the both of them, it didn't seem like that answer was the one she was looking for. But, honestly, the dread Wolverine, king of the emotionless was far out of his league. There was no explanation would ever come to his ragged maw when it was summoned. No words to spill boyishly from his lips, embarrassing him, it was just a silent block between the two speakers.

"I love Remy, y'know."

Wolverine nodded with subtle agreement. "I know."

"But, y' did i' anyway."

"Evidence says yes,"

The answer was more sarcastic than Rogue would have preferred, but she was trying to keep her thoughts in check; adding the line of information together until it created a whole circle, a picture of understanding. It was starting to come together; in the end, Rogue was the one person who didn't just live in the purgatory of pseudo understanding of the Canadian like most of the X-men: she was lifted into a realm of insight into the man. Perhaps it was due to him being in her head so many times, or just that the both of them had a silent connection of just _knowing._Either way, the comprehension was there.

An idea sprouted into Rogue's mind, it was meager and timid, but it served to spike a curiosity in her that yearned to be sated. Her unprotected hand reached out, bridging the foot between Logan and herself. Fingertips brushing his still wet hair aside, they rested on his forehead a moment. The delicate touch before would have drained most of anyone normal, instead the Canadian stood unaffected in front of her, a perplexed expression gazing his features. After a few moments of nothing, Rogue pressed more firmly into the man's forehead the first of the joints in her finger going white from the pressure. After a minute, the woman was convinced there was nothing and dropped her hand.

"Not'in'."

"What were you hunting for to begin with?"

"An answer, Logan, I jus' wan'ed t' know why."

"Hn, if that'd worked, do you really think you would have gotten it?"

"I was hopin', don' y' wanna know why?"

"Kid, I learned a long time ago, if things weren't meant to be found the easy way, they're one of two things: either not meant to be found all together, or something worth hunting for. I think this answer you're looking for is just better left locked in there. Besides, it's not all that pleasant in their." Although the explanation was left on a note of humor, it had caused Rogue's fingers to retract an undersized inch. She had been in Logan's mind on more than one occasion. He'd risked entrusting his precedent to the southerner before, why was this any different now? Her nose wrinkled a moment resentfully, Logan wasn't the best candidate to be marking efforts to find information, he'd occasionally still ask for the professor to enter his mind, after all. But the moment of antipathy faded once more. Though she need not to admit it, the Canadian was right. About to drop her hand completely, her wrist was grabbed. A miniature blaze of uncertainty crossed her still crimson gaze. Rogue had promised herself this would not be a repeat of yesterday, but she wasn't entirely sure about her teammate.

"Logan, what're y' doin'?" Her voice wavered slightly, mirroring the expression in her eyes, as the question was stationed, and the grip tightened a loosened periodically within a span of several seconds. In the background a clock ticked and the refrigerator hummed, and one woken inhabitant of the mansion prowled the hallways….

"Kid, I'm sorry, I know you love him." The apology did all: demolished closure, relinquished the grip on Rogue's arm, and ended the conversation all in one fatal blow. As his fingers lightened and allowed Rogue's porcelain wrist to leave his trap, he turned his head to the head and sighed. It wasn't until then he caught a very familiar and unwelcome scent.

"Frost, you can come out of hiding now."

There was a laugh first before the infamous ivory appearance of the White Queen allowed herself to float into the kitchen. "Sorry, darlings, I wasn't sure if I'd be interrupting anything, I thought it best to hang back." The excuse could have been shattered easily, but no one dare challenge the woman. Not out of her authority, but silent and building wonderment of how much she had heard.

Finally, Rogue took the initiative to speak, "Non, y' weren't interuptin' not'ing, Emma." Eyeing the woman's face Rogue looked for tells that she had been out drinking the night before. Naturally, there were none. No deep bags present under her eyes, not a hair was out of place, and there was no stench of day-old-alcohol emanating from the woman. Hell, Rogue didn't even catch the traces of makeup where the evidence should have been. "T'ought y' wen' drinkin' las' night."

The White Queen rose a slender, blonde, eyebrow in an equally questioning response. It was evident from the eyes and accent what had happened this morning, or later the night before. Also, it began to spark curiosity as to where the southerner's Cajun lover would have been that morning. Finally, Emma's tongue clicked against her teeth before she answered, "I did, why?"

Rogue shrugged, "Not'in'. Y' jus' don' look like it, dat's all."

"Ah, well speaking of last night, where's the dear _other half _of my drinking party?" The words were chosen specifically to cause damage while still holding some innocence. If Rogue looked as she did, the woman probably harbored the knowledge of what had gone on at the bar, not like it was anything particularly incriminating. But, the fact Rogue may have grown weary and untrusting of Emma in a single night was a most startling development.

Once more Rogue let a shrug fall over her shoulders and down her back, rather than admit why he hadn't joined her that morning, an excuse pulled from her lips. "Still in bed, Remy ain't a mornin' person, probably git up 'round noon."

"Is that so?" Emma questioned, it wasn't unheard of, and it would explain why Emma had fallen into the habit of seeing him afternoon rather than at the crack of dawn, however, the White Queen had an impeccable sixth sense when it came to unearthing a lie. Having the ability to read people's thoughts helped immensely. A knowing smile spread across her lips, but the blonde didn't dare press the matter, it wouldn't do to come off as a threat. Well, not yet anyways. Stepping forward, Emma's bare feet slapped against the hardwood gently as she strode towards the coffee maker. It was the only staple need in the Institution that the woman could not go without in the morning. Breakfast could be skipped but not the coffee, not even with the promise of a Double Mocha Latte after a shoot. Icicle gaze examining the coffee, the woman debated silently whether or not she wished to brew a fresher serving or trust the southerner's ability to prepare coffee. Falling on the latter, the White Queen slid her dainty fingers around the handle, dipping the spout into a nearby mug for herself. Leaving a good inch at the top empty, the blonde set the kettle back down on the coffeemaker and turned herself to face her two early morning companions. Cradling the mug in two hands she was about to let a droll comment drop from her lips before stopping, raising the mug to her lips and taking a sip. Every once in a while Wolverine would slip a look towards the White Queen from the corner of his eye before snorting and looking away once more. It was clear he was still untrusting, but it was to be expected. At her greatest, Emma had managed to kidnap and contain the X-men; Wolverine included, and nearly killed him, too. She also played a key role in the unleashing of one of the graver X-men foes: the Dark Phoenix. But seeing as Jean was still breathing and lively as ever it seemed the philosophy of the infamous mutant group remained true:

I got better.

Taking all the factors under advisement, the White Queen would have been worried if the Wolverine was a forgiving soul, enough so to let her slide into the Xavier Institute without judgment. "Tell me, is the kitchen usually this empty in the morning, or is it just like this because everyone's away?"

Wolverine was the first to answer, his voice gruff borderline of violent, "It's because everyone's away. You try having a cup of coffee with several little hellions running around."

Emma Frost smirked, "Trust me, Logan. I know _all_ about Hellions." The mention of her students in passing was a brittle topic for the woman, borderline painful and hide-able.

"Whatever, Frost." Giving a moment for his irritation to subside from his words, Wolverine posed a question, "Why'd you leave that mock school in Massachusetts?"

It seemed the question shattered the confident air around Emma that had protected her. As a makeshift shield she brought the mug up to her lips once more ad lowering it before she answered. "There was a Sentinel attack on my school. Majority of the students were killed, the ones who managed to get away are currently on the list of Missing Children." Her eyes fell down to the half-full mug that was cradled in her palm. Out of everyone in the institute if just had to be the cruelest to ask the question. Charles had been kind enough to accept her as a repenting student returning from the darker side of mutant life, not bothering to ask why she suddenly cut her ties with the Hellfire club. He'd checked her mind though, to make sure she wasn't just a poorly placed bug; other than that precaution, he'd not dragged Emma through memory lane over the murder of her students.

Logan had let his chocolate orbs examine Emma as she told her story; he sniffed once in disbelief only to be whacked by Rogue. As the silence fell over the three of them, Wolverine finally took the liberty in mending the conversation he had led to its death. "Sorry to hear that." It wasn't much, but it was a start.

Rogue's gaze followed the invisible trail of the apology. Frost still seemed fascinated with her mug of coffee, appearing much more fragile than the woman who had been laughing and flirting at the bar only the night before. It seemed even the seemingly invincible White Queen had her moments of weakness despite popular belief. The settling silence between the three of them was causing Rogue to become self-conscious of her own thoughts. It wasn't just Emma; Rogue had a nasty habit of being a little untrusting when it came to Jean and Psylocke with their psychic abilities as well. Shifting her weight from one foot from the other, words finally fell from the woman's mouth; excusing her from the kitchen under the justification she was getting changed into proper clothing.

Slinking away from the deafening silence, Rogue tiptoed her way up the stairs to her shared room. Slipping passed the barely ajar door, her crimson gaze showered upon Remy hoping for some movement or another. She went unrewarded for her vigilance. Turning her back to Remy, she started to strip down from her pajamas. The loose cotton top was the first to be shed, the diluted sunlight hit the woman's skin; it glowed with the sun-kissed effect of models. Her hands quickly slip down, underneath the elastic of her sweatpants. Quickly, she shed them as well, stalking to the closet as she did so, nearly tripping over the foot of the pants several times. Swearing quietly, Rogue danced nervously, weight padding from foot to foot. Even though the door was locked, and the only companion in the room was a lecherous, but undeniably unconscious Remy, those facts didn't comfort her much. Rogue still felt incredibly vulnerable, as if be some freak accident, something would be able to get into the room and touch her bare skin…well, and see her naked, too.

Letting out a near inaudible whine she ripped through the closet and dresser searching for something to cover herself up with, she came up empty. Hell, at this point she would have settled for underwear, not that she could find any pair of her own. Finally desperate and anxious Rogue settled for a large shirt of Remy's she'd picked up from the floor of the closet until she could find something more suitable. As the ebony fabric fell over her head, she rolled her eyes sarcastically. As soon as the woman's arms were comfortably fitted through the long sleeves, her hands pulled at the edges of the seam, trying to lower the hem, much in vain. Whenever the southern brunette pulled at the hem, it bounced back up, returning to its normal length. The dark fabric hung proudly at the quarter point of the woman's thighs, barely covering her behind without the risk of it riding up whenever she bent forward, but until she could find underwear and her own pair of jeans, this was the best she could do.

Pouting, Rouge started searching through the drawers methodically, the top-left followed by the middle-left, bottom-left, and then top-second-column. The pattern fell in that order until she reached the third-right-column. It wasn't until the middle-right did Rogue find the starting of an outfit. Snatching the bra from the drawer she silently vowed she would take an afternoon to organize their closet and dresser properly, instead of the 'throw it where it fits' method her and Gambit had fallen into. The bottom-right drawer had supplied, by surprising coincidence, a matching pair of boy-short underwear. The lingerie set was a dull green, accented with a sea-blue, corset trim along the sides and front, topped with little bows on each; the underwear followed suit, only the corset lacing did up only the back, allowing a small window for the defined line to trail downwards, leaving what it could to the imagination. The front of the boy-shorts was topped with a small bow, matching the cerulean of the trim.

The boy-shorts were the first to be slid over the woman's toned legs, clinging tightly to her buttocks and hips like a jealous lover. Next, casting a glance over to Remy, Rogue examined his face carefully. There were a few moments where she thought she caught the flutter of an eyelid, but once she was satisfied the man was asleep she shed his top momentarily to change into the bra. As soon as the bra was in place, the woman held tightly to the shirt, she'd keep a hold of it if by some curse a passerby did manage to get into her and Remy's conjoined room, but until then she resumed her rummaging in the closet until she was blessed with her own shirt, jeans and socks.

Remy had always been a fine actor, both verbally and physically. He could talk himself out of death, cheat the devil and even deceive his dearly beloved. It was at that very moment he was doing the latter, where Rogue was concerned, he had been either unconscious or slumbering, both assumptions were undoubtedly wrong. From his curled resting posture his eyelids had batted open once or twice, mainly remaining a portion of the way closed so he could spy on Rogue through a thin veil of eyelashes. The show was admittedly hard to keep from giving a standing ovation. Probably one of the reasons Rogue was paranoid of letting Remy see her naked. He was never fond of those 'you can look but not touch' rules. However, the Cajun was also one to know to make compromises. In return for the show, he would give Rogue the belief she was alone in the room. It wasn't the best of deals but if it was in Gambit's favor, he was more than eager to put it silently into play.

Confessing silently to himself, Remy did divulge his curiosity as his lover stripped down to her birthday suit, his shaded, crimson eyes fluttered over the woman wolfishly. Smirking smugly, the Cajun remained silent, stifling any sort of remark he could have slid into the river of swears, commenting how un-lady like the colorful language may have been. Silence being the man's cover he remained undetected as the nude body of his lover crouched by the dresser, finally pulling out whatever little coverage she had found. Personally, Remy was never object to nudity, but the lingerie was even more intoxicating. If there was ever a moment touching the woman was a staple requirement, it would have been then. After Rogue had slid on the underwear, Remy found himself having to clamp his eyes shut hurriedly or suffer the wrath of the Southern Belle. Realizing the clench in his eyelids would have looked unnatural his eyes fluttered softly, trying to regain the angelic look of sleep. Giving the woman a few extra seconds than what it should have taken her, his eyes quivered into small, open slits. Once more the woman had set about her hunt in their closet, attempting to organize it as she wrenched through their clothes that were not safely on hangers.

Remy remained deathly silent as Rogue yelped occasionally, her balance compromised several times with the tossing of clothes this way and that. Finally, when the woman had returned from the depths of the closet green shirt in one hand and tattered jeans folded over her forearm, it was the moment the woman stepped into the view of the beds that the Cajun bade his lover 'good morning'.

"Sassy as ever, chère."

There was a small pause as with more difficulty than usual, the Cajun pushed himself into a sitting position letting his eyes trail down the woman's voluptuous figure. "Remy's a fan o' de green, always have been."

Fading crimson eyes grew to humorous proportions as Rogue whipped around to find Remy very much awake despite her earlier assumption. The moment of surprise was splintered by the descent of her expression into a firmly set scowl. Her mouth, though wired to start with the river of scolds and insults, remained dry and short of words. The effect of disbelieve still ebbed into her motor abilities.

"Cat git yer tongue, River Rat?"

"A-ah oughtta throttle y'! Y' perverted, lyin', dirtbag!"

"Remy loves y' too, chère."

"Ah wish he didn't."

As soon as the familiar retort flew from her lips, Rogue settled back on her heels, smiling broadly. Even the beginning of her native accent was beginning to show through for the familiar argument, shown just barely by the 'I's coming out as a relaxed drawling, 'ah'. For the first time in twenty four hours everything was beginning to seem normal again. If it wasn't for the fact she was still in her underwear the southerner could have sworn that this was a replicate of the argument Gambit and her had the afternoon before. Hell, she could almost guess the next comment before it spilled from Remy's lips.

"Why y' gotta beh so col', chère?"

"Because Ah love y', Swamp rat," From where she stood, Rogue slid her own long sleeved shirt on over her head quickly before Remy had a chance to retaliate verbally. As soon as the long sleeved, jade shirt fit comfortably, the woman slid her palm and fingers into the sleeve. Making sure her hand was covered completely she placed her faux-gloved hand to the man's forehead as she approached and kissed the back of her own hand. It was then Remy noticed the crimson in the woman's eyes and grinned cheekily.

"Y'know chère, I'd have t' say de red don' look so good on y', green's definitely y'r color." The tender contact of the woman's covered fingers soon turned into a pseudo slap upside the head.

"Yeh, yeh, now git outta bed." There was a roll of her eyes as Rogue snatched the covered from Remy's bed as she stalked over the jeans she had dropped to the carpeted bedroom floor. Quickly, the woman slipped into her worn jeans before the Cajun had even managed to straighten himself into a standing position. "An' hurry would ya; Fros' is certain Ah put ya in a coma." The tone was resentful to the woman in passing mention; Rogue would have been keen to avoid her all together. It wasn't that she didn't particularly like the woman; she just didn't like the White Queen when she insinuated silently Rogue had harmed her own lover.

"Fros', huh?" There was a small pause in Remy's voice as a sly smirk crept and wove its way into his waking features. "I t'ink we should go see 'er, y'know for a 'session'."

Rogue rose a slender eyebrow, finished sliding on a pair of leather gloves she'd fished out of the nightstand table as Remy posed his preposition to the skunk-haired woman. She didn't ask any verbal questions, just held out a safely covered hand out for Remy to grab once he was finished sliding on a pair of jeans he'd fished out of the laundry basket. So, they smelled of day old crawfish, they were still wearable. Taking the woman's gloved hand; he slid his fingers between her comparatively slender ones, the wolfish simper never easing.


	6. The Denial Twist

_If you think that a kiss is on the lips, _

_C'mon, you've got it all wrong, man. _

Emma had not been able to drag herself from the kitchen; there was something about the kitchen that when her head was pounding and stomach flipping that was just comforting. Perhaps it was the fact a sink was just to her right. Of course, the White Queen hadn't dared _look _in the least bit hung-over: It was against her religion. She'd taken the time to perfect her hair, hide the bags and sickly pale of her skin under makeup, and had before showered several times to rid herself of the alcoholic stench. Whatever remained was masked by a small touch of telepathy, projecting her perfection into the minds of Rogue and Wolverine.

Speaking of the beast, he'd stayed for exactly two minutes and 39 seconds before leaving after Rogue. That was fine; the silence suited Emma like a dream. Though, it hadn't lasted long, the remnants of the institute, mainly Kitty and Kurt came barreling in and out of the kitchen a whirlwind of noise and mutant powers. The _bamf_ sounded enough times to make Emma believe she'd grown up with the noise. After those two, there were a few unnamed students that remained in the Institution, flitting in and out of the kitchen noisily causing Emma's dulling headache to flare-up more viciously. Once the hurricane of students had evaporated, the White Queen tried to settle herself once more. Since then the woman had managed to drain her mug of coffee and pour herself a new one, then half-drained that one nearly right away. The throbbing of her head that came from tossing it forward and backward with the motions of guzzling served as a reminder to never go drinking with a Cajun again.

Just as peace was beginning to wash over the blonde's head, a pair of harsh footsteps plowed into the kitchen, the footfalls shattering whatever sanctuary the psychic had managed to build in her twenty minutes of 'alone time'. Looking to both new arrivals she rolled her icicle eyes exasperatedly, the same continuous thought crossing her mind. _They all come here, how do they find me?_

Remy was the first to demolish whatever haven Emma had clung dearly to. "Fros' we need y' to mind-link us." The woman's lips fell into an early scowl at the demand, her throbbing mind in no mood to dish out any favors, especially not to the man who, in Emma's claims, had gotten her drunk. Finishing the coffee, she slapped the mug ruthlessly down on the granite countertop.

"You know, that is _exactly_ the first thing I want to do when I'm nursing a hang over, Gambit." The sneer was cruel, directed solely to the Cajun, Rogue seemingly forgotten. "Maybe when my head stops spinning, I'll give it a whirl," Though her compromise was set into open light, her tone made it even less of an inviting option.

Remy shrugged off the cruelty of the blonde's tone, "If y' do, we won' ask fer anot'er one in a whole week. 'Sides, somet'ings are more importan' than whinin' 'bout a hangover." Sentence finished, the Cajun winked.

Emma rolled her eyes once more. That was officially the _worst_ bargain she had ever heard and her splitting mind agreed with her. Though, there was still the dark side of ambition that needed Emma to stay on Remy's good side. "Fine, but I'm going to grab a Vogue first, I don't need to overhear you two mind-fucking." At the answer Remy tipped his head and saluted the blonde patriotically. When he said she was the best, he meant it. Forgotten Rogue on the other hand, was currently as red as a tomato for Emma's blatant knowledge of what Gambit had planned for the two of them inside of Emma's psychic setting.

---

Rogue fidgeted, her hands clasped between her thighs, the couch creaked strenuously below the southerner's squirming. Emma eyed the southern brunette wearily; she was mirroring the way she had been the first session, and the second, the third, and the forth and so on right until this one. Apparently Rogue just didn't like psychics, even if they were attempting to help her…

Sort of.

Gambit on the other hand, sat still and silent as the dead, the only hint that he was looking forward to the moment was the unfading, wolfish grin that fit his personality as well as his well-chiseled jaw. His hands were clasped together, fingers interlacing themselves between each other, the finger-clasp resting upon one knee. The man's crimson gaze lay heavily upon Emma who threatened to smack him with a considerably large issue of Vogue; there was one of Cosmo not too far off as well. Just in case.

Finally, the blonde spoke up, "Alright, we've done this before, if you'd please remain in a comfortable position for when you go astral, this'll go quite easily. Remy, seeing as this is your idea: I'm giving scene control to you. Imaging will duplicate what is in your mind's eye, blah, blah, blah. I'm getting tired of explaining this for the umpteenth time. Now! If you please, I'm going to read my Vogue."

As soon as her words finished the world around out the couple blacked out completely, there was a feeling of weightlessness growing in the pits of both their stomachs'. Slowly, a scene began to materialize from the darkness. Luscious crimsons and scarlets were the first of the colors to appear. Large drapes of the deep red framed the room which was quite dark in comparison to the drapes and sheets. From the floor, there was only a bed, surrounded by unseen, but sturdy flooring. The bed itself was dressed in satin and velvet to the very brim. Warm, lustful colors dropped onto the seats dousing them with large doses of crimsons. In the unseen corners of the room was just a black abyss, unthought-of details that were left unfilled by Emma's psychic imaging.

Rogue, as she stepped into the room of Remy's creation, was reminded of her lover's eyes. The contrast of red on black was both intoxicating and exhilarating. Her eyes wandered to the man beside her, his familiar stubble-crested jaw-line was the first to come into view followed by his bare chest and jean-clad bottom. The woman, submersed in curiosity looked down upon herself, her eyes widening with both amusement and horror. There, she stood in the fantasy room, in a black and green reciprocation of the lingerie she'd worn today; the black swallowing all colour but the jade lacing of the corset sides, the bows, and straps of the bra. And, if she was not mistaken, the bra added a bit more padding than the one in reality…

About to cry out with ersatz frustration, Rogue found herself with the Cajun's lips pressed firmly against hers, his chest sparing no closure against her breast. Breaking away from the dominated kiss, Rogue gasped quietly. "An' why do ya git clothes and Ah don't?"

Kissing her again, Remy let his answer slide flawlessly into the action, "Cause dis is Remy's fantasy." As the words sprawled from his maw, his hand wrapped around the flesh of her lower-backside, instinctively, Rogue arched away from the touch, causing her stomach to hit Gambit's gently. The Louisiana gentleman took to response as an indication to further the passion of the kiss. Almost roughly he advanced, triggering his lover to take an intuitive step backward toward the velveteen bed of the man's design.

Purring lightly, Rogue let her own hands slip around the Cajun's neck and shoulders. In truth, Rogue never let Gambit go through with one of these fantasies while under Emma's watch, be it modesty or paranoia the southerner had just never felt comfortable with the idea. Today, the difference was the southerner needed more-so than usual, to touch Gambit, to solidify the knowledge that he was hers, moreover, that she was Remy's, and only his. With a quiet _thump_ the back of Rogue's legs had been led into the side of the bed, which by act of the imagination was leveled perfectly to the back of her knees, causing the woman to fall back-first into the downy divan. As the woman's back made contact with the covers, they seemed to envelop her comfortingly, almost like a second lover. The fabric beneath her rode softly up around her arms, feeling softer than any velveteen ever could. The hand from underneath her back slid outwards bracing the Cajun as he followed his lover in the descent. Remy's weight caused the bed to wheeze quietly under both their bodies. Balanced gained with his knees on either side of Rogue's hips, his mouth rejoined hers in a frenzied kiss. Passion enveloped the two as if there were nothing to live for beyond those moments. They lived in that moment as if there were nothing more to life than the ability to just hold the one who was the world, nothing more than to just exist within that world.

---

Emma sat adjacent to Remy and his lady, at this point; she didn't even bother going their fantasy. She knew that would be happening, it was the same thing that always happened when two people were put under the urgency and passion that the Cajun has obviously displayed. On days when the sessions had been less physical, so to speak, Emma might have eavesdropped, just to see what kind of juicy secrets were flowing between the two. After the first three sessions, she stopped, because in reality, the two were just not that interesting of a couple. Perhaps it was a cruel thing to think or say, but it was damned true. Besides from the demons that Rogue held in her head and Gambit always trying to eat them until there was nothing left, there was no pizzazz that made their relationship sitcom-worthy. Hell, it wasn't even worthy of day time television, as far as the White Queen was concerned.

Her crystalline eyes scattered from the Vogue she held between her fingers, her eyes would flicker up every time she thought she heard the slightest bit of noise. Her eyebrows rose in an accusatory glare every time a hint of passion slipped between the still-life bodies. Finding it more difficult each time to go back to her magazine, the woman stood from her chair, stretched, and strode over to the side of the couch which Gambit inhabited. In this state of mind, he still held the lecherous and wolf-like gaze of a hunter who deserved more than Miss Frigid. The more Emma allowed her attention to slip over Remy, the more she glanced occasionally over to Rogue with a viperous look to her eye.

Even to the woman who claimed herself an Ice Queen when it came to her emotions, she found them emanating nothing but dislike for the southern belle. In her own moment of self-gratifying reprisal, Emma slid closer to the Cajun, leaning down over his body. Dragging out her languid motions, she pressed her own lips against the warm counterpart of the Cajun's. Certainly, she found it low to be kissing another man as he thought of his woman, but somehow, the knowledge of what the man's kiss, even one sided felt like was a small victory she could claim over Rogue. It was a victory she would relish in above all others.

Who knew, perhaps that the moment of unlinked passion could lead to something more, certainly, had Emma wanted she probably could have greatly influenced Remy to go over to the White side, but somehow, everything would be so much sweeter if he came over willingly. Besides, it wasn't as if Rogue didn't have options, from what Emma had come to understand, there were other's whose eyes went wanting for the southerner.


End file.
